


Small Miracles

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related: nightshift, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim can't sleep and works out the real reason that he was angry with Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Miracles

## Small Miracles

by Aimee

Author's website: <http://www.geocities.com/TelevisionCity/Set/4824>

DISCLAIMERS: Jim, Blair, and all things Sentinel belong to Pet Fly Productions and UPN. I don't own them, but I treat them better. 

NOTES: This is an afterword for "Night Shift," and it contains spoilers. It's also rather silly. It hasn't been beta'd, so please be kind. Also, I wrote this in first person, present tense, something I usually avoid like the plague. I tried to make it past tense, I really did, but the story wouldn't let me. It just refused.   
  


* * *

I can't sleep. Why, after a night filled with absolute insanity \-- I mean, we had everything from a car crashing through the front doors to a crocodile in the airducts, not to mention one hell of a knock-down, drag-out fight with Sandburg over that damn dissertation of his -- why are the words of a more than half crazy street person all I can think about? "What good does it do for a man to have ears that can hear a thousand miles if he cannot listen to the whispers of his own heart?" I listen to myself all the time, and right now my heart's desire is for a good eight hours of sleep. I had a rough day and an even rougher night; I need my rest. Oh, and let's not forget that classic pearl of wisdom: "You should begin by listening to the hearts of others." I mean, what kind of crap is that? Go peddle your twelve-step program to personal fulfillment elsewhere, buddy, 'cause I ain't buying. I'm not totally self-absorbed; I pay attention to the other people in my life. 

Don't I? 

I can't believe Blair offered to tear up his research for me. He meant it, too; his heartbeat was rock steady. Why did I get so mad at him? Why didn't I answer him when he asked if I wanted to call it quits? Why did I let him think our friendship is so fragile that it can't withstand a few unflattering words? My silence just about equaled an ultimatum, Blair's career or his relationship with me -- something I would never dream of asking of him if I just stopped to think about it first. So what exactly, in other words, got the bug up my butt so bad? 

"A betrayal of friendship and trust." A little harsh, Ellison, don't you think? After all, it wasn't like anything he said wasn't true. It was all of it true. Every word. Maybe that was it? He said it himself: he knows me better than anyone, even Carolyn. He's closer to me than anyone in this world. He sees right through me, all the way to the bottom of my soul, with those x-ray eyes of his, knows me more intimately than anybody ever has or ever will -- and he takes all that and lays it out on paper coldly, dispassionately, analyzing me like I'm on a slide under a microscope. Scientists might spend all their time watching the algae swim around in its little drop of water, but they sure as hell don't care about its personal life. 

I gave Blair my heart, and he dissected it, mounted it, and put it on display. 

. . . wait. Wait just a minute. My heart? 

* * *

Blair's already up; I can hear him moving around downstairs. I don't know how he does it, getting by on so little sleep and still managing to bop energetically around like he's battery-operated or something. I wonder if he's still angry with me. Probably not, he seemed to accept my apology outside the station. But still. 

Well, it's not like I'm getting any sleep here. I might as well get up, too. 

I wander downstairs, dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts. Hey, it's not like he hasn't seen me wearing even less before; no point in changing my habits just because I've realized I'm in love with him. Besides, I may be old next to the kid, but I'm still in shape. I don't mind showing off a little. 

"Morning, Sandburg," I say. 

He jumps a little, surprised. "Uh, hey, Jim! What are you doing up so early? I thought you had the day off." 

"I do. But I couldn't sleep and I heard you get up, so I thought I'd join you for breakfast." 

"Couldn't sleep?" He sounds concerned. "Is something wrong?" 

I hesitate for a moment, then shake my head. "No, not wrong exactly. I've just been . . . thinking." 

"Whoa, dangerous. Don't wanna strain yourself," he teases. 

I grin at him, glad of this evidence that we're back on our old footing. "Yeah, yeah, I know: it's a muscle I haven't used for a while. But I'm not gonna worry while I have you for a spotter." 

I think I surprised him; he's blinking stupidly at me. I take advantage of the lull in the conversation and grab myself a cup of coffee. 

I'm taking a sip when he says, "Jim, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." He sounds astonished. 

I put my mug down on the table; it makes a dull _thunk_ as it hits the wood. "If that's true, then I think I owe you a serious apology, Chief. I owe you one, anyway. I'm sorry for those things I said last night. I had no right." 

"Jim, it's OK. I thought we settled this last night, man." 

"We did, but I've been up all night thinking about it. You were right with that fear-based stuff. It's . . . hard for me to admit to myself, but you were right. Most of my decisions in life _were_ made out of fear." I finally look up from the wet rings I've been making on the table with the bottom of my coffee mug. He's staring at me, eyes wide and blue and so damn beautiful. Those eyes need a warning sign; I could so easily fall in and drown. I'm already going under for the third time . . . . "There's something I've got to tell you, Blair. I've tried denying it, ignoring it, and beating it into submission, but it just won't go away. I can't repress it anymore -- that's the coward's way out. Just . . . don't hate me, when you hear what I have to say." 

He puts his hand on my arm; I close my eyes and savor the touch. "I could never hate you, Jim. You can tell me anything." His voice is so warm it feels like a caress. 

"I love you." I wince. Blurting it out like that is so not cool, to borrow a phrase from Sandburg. 

His expression doesn't change. "I love you, too, Jim." 

I realize he's still waiting for my big revelation. "No, I mean . . . I _really_ love you. You know. _That_ way." 

His fingers stop in their gentle stroking of my arm as he processes that. "Eruh?" he croaks. He clears his throat and tries again. "What? But you're straight, man!" As he notices me staring at him in disbelief, his certainty falters a little. "Aren't you?" 

"You think I'm straight? Where in the world did you get that idea, Chief? I've been out of the closet for ages." 

"Well, nobody told me!" he says, aggrieved. "Man, this sucks. Do you realize I'm gonna have to re-write my diss now?" 

I roll my eyes. "Can we _please_ forget about your dissertation for a moment!?" I must have yelled that louder than I intended to; he looks thoroughly suppressed. "This is about you and me. Let's leave your committee out of it." 

"OK. How about Carolyn?" 

"What about her?" 

"Well, you were _married_ to her! How can you be gay?" 

"Why do you think we got divorced?" 

"Oh." I can see the wheels of his brain turning feverishly as he thinks this over. "So when she said you had problems with intimacy . . ." 

"She meant sex, yes." 

"Oh." 

"I can't believe you didn't know this, Chief. I mean, _everybody_ knows this. Even that slimy defense attorney from last night! Or what did you think he was implying when he said he hoped I wasn't taking too personal an interest in his client?" 

Blair looks blank. "I don't think I was there for that." 

I play that scene over in my mind again. "Oh, no, I guess not. Sorry." 

"'Sokay." He clears his throat. "So, you, uh, love me." 

"That's right," I say softly. "I do. I _know_ you're straight, so I don't expect --" 

"Uh, actually, Jim . . . ." 

". . . what?" 

"I haven't been completely honest with you. I'm . . . well, actually, I'm bi --" 

"What!" 

"--and I'm, like, _so_ in love with you, too." 

We stare in wild surmise at each other across the breakfast table. Then I figure we've already wasted enough time, so I lean over and kiss him. 

And I'm so blown away, all I can think to describe it is, _Nice. Very nice._

When we finally separate, he smiles at me. God, I love his smile; the beauty of it stuns me like an electric shock. His lips are moving. Why? Oh, he must be talking. 

When I tune in, he's saying, "I wonder what made you realize it now? I mean, we just had this huge fight last night; declarations of love are not what I expected this morning." 

I shrug. "I dunno. I just couldn't stop thinking about something that angel guy said last night, when it hit me. I love you." 

That smile reappears briefly at the words; I vow to say them often. "Something Gabe said, huh?" He sounds speculative. 

"Now, Chief -- " 

"C'mon, Jim, he said he was here to perform a miracle. I don't know about you, but this feels pretty miraculous to me." 

Well. Can't argue with that. "A small miracle, maybe." I can't give in too quickly, now, can I? 

His eyes twinkle at me; he knows what I mean without me saying it. I decide to kiss him again; with the sunlight shining in through the window and playing in his hair, he looks good enough to eat. As I move in, he looks skyward and says, "Thanks, Gabe." 

And, for a moment, I think I see the sunlight intensify on his face, as if in answer. 

THE END 


End file.
